


i can see through you even in pitch black

by sultrygoblin



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Freak Show
Genre: F/M, Married Life, Matricide, Mother-in-Law Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot - request -  a man’s best friend should be his wife
Relationships: Dandy Mott/Original Female Character(s), Dandy Mott/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	i can see through you even in pitch black

**Author's Note:**

> as ya’ll know I don’t write head cannons since so many of you are so much more talented at it and mine would look like a drunk child’s half memory of a sexy dream. i bring you this as an offering instead  
> “Ok here me out! You write for Ahs right?! I would like to request something involing Gloria mott as the reader's Mother-in-law (and what that would include!) I hope that makes sense (thanks!)" OR dandy's wife really wishes gloria would keep her nose out of it and her husband is more aware than she gave him credit for

Gloria is always there. It’s infuriating. And if your husband hadn’t had the monopoly on stomping his foot and whining long before you’d arrived on property you might’ve done just that. Perhaps, perhaps, it was something you could deal with, most of you problems with Gloria could perhaps be smoothed over. If it was just one of them. Unfortunately, each one stacked on top of the other until it was a teetering tower of personality disorders. God forbid it toppled! You would be upset, Dandy would become the worst little monster because he was no longer the center of his little world’s attention, and you? The dutiful daughter-in-law and loving wife. What were you to do? Clean it all up. Yes, it seemed when marrying into The Mott’s you had arrogantly signed up to be their emotional and psychological maid. That Pandora’s box had exploded open with a bang after their engagement. Between you then-fiance covered in blood and Mrs. Mott tittering over him as if he had only spilled Merlot on the fine tablecloth, you hadn’t really had the chance to take it all in at the time but had later that evening, it was incredibly telling. You had expected his mother to be far more involved than most, that had been clear from even before the small massacre in the dining room but at a certain point it became ridiculous. Even for them.

Darling, a lady does not wander about the house in their dressing gown.

Perhaps that blouse is a little low cut.

No, no, darling, Dandy prefers…

That was perhaps the worst. You clenched your delicate fists, ground your perfect teeth, and suffered through all while thinking; how dare you? It often took physically biting your tongue till it seemed it might bleed to not spit back. Insulting his mother might be one of the few privileges offered only to her son. And though you longed for the day that would no longer be the case, you spent your time indulging in the privileges only offered to you. How every time he pouted or threw a tantrum over the most childish of things, you would smooth the fabric of your skirt, give him a stern look and say the same four words. I’m not your mother. The words did something to Dandy. Something deep, primal, and equally as child-like. It had been a surprise the first time it happened, as your relationship grew, surpassing courting to engagement to eventual marriage, you found yourself using it more and more. For its reaction dropped a wedge that you couldn’t have discovered on your own no matter how hard you would try. The first time it happened had been a glorious moment. You remember it so vividly that sometimes when you close your eyes it’s as if you really are back there. 

No more can you remember what the tantrum had been about. It didn’t matter what it was about even then, truly. Their reasoning was often small sleights that even your youngest brother-who was nearing 7 years old- had learned to ignore. But not you darling beau. No, a mother’s indulgence had made the ability to ignore such things nigh impossible. You had exited the car. He still sat in the driver’s seat pouting and grumbling. Which would simply not do for many reasons, chiefly being that you were in no mood to deal with Gloria’s thinly veiled insults? You stood there at the base of the short stairs, arms crossed, hip cocked, looking at him as you would any other child who was being ridiculous.

“If you want to stay here and pout that’s your prerogative, sugar,” you smile incredulously as you shook your head at him, “I’m not your mother,” you turned on your heels and made your way towards the entrance.

You had just stepped off the stark white onto the impeccably green grass when he rounded in front of you, those intoxicating emeralds bearing down on you as if you would concede. You would not set that precedent, if this were to end where it was supposed to, you would have to be firm with him. Standing there, posture perfect, face unmoving, waiting for him to either state his piece or move out of the way. Even he had picked up on that. His reaction seemed to be born out of realizing for the first time he couldn’t play you as he could the woman waiting patiently by the front door for you both. Some part of him seemed to like that. Grabbing you by the waist and hauling you against him, the most contact they had ever had, and kissing you as if he planned to steal the air from your very lungs, they had only shared one or two polite pecks before. You felt very much like Scarlett O’Hara in that moment, consumed by a dashing yet dangerous man. His fear that you would leave had won out in the end, feeling the need to remind you he didn’t think of you as such. When his lips met the curve of your jaw.

“I’m sorry,” a desperate whisper.

So desperate it made you grin, and you found your eyes locked with those of your future mother-in-law. Somewhere between shock and hurt, finally being taken seriously by them both. You lived in that moment whenever you could. It was the moment things changed. Gloria’s hatred blazed brighter, watching as you drew her son deeper and deeper. As his fiance and now wife you indulged the man, there was no chance of him completely changing, but there were some things you simply would not stand for. As the days wore on and on, that nosey old bat was becoming one of those things. The courting had been brief, as they often were, just a few months. An equally short engagement, your husband’s idea, and you had no problem with being snapped up like that, your marriage so far had been equally as short. In fact about this time the year before he had just gotten down on one knee with an incredible diamond ring. His proof that he had every intention of continuing onward with the affair. Gloria had not enjoyed that, nor the quick marriage at the courthouse, or how you had become, by all accounts, the lady of the house. You were Mrs. Mott now, and that did not sit well at all, of course it wouldn’t. The kind of woman who would marry her cousin to keep her wealth was not one who would enjoy no longer being the first Mott woman introduced.

All of this had culminated in this strange moment you and your husband were now forced to share. You had spent most of the day dealing with detectives and the family attorney you hadn’t had much time to dote on Dandy. Which he always took seriously and lead to one issue or the other. But you could not believe the nerve of that woman. You turned carefully from the vanity, setting down your brush with a disbelieving look on your face.

“Would you care to repeat that, sugar?” easing yourself slowly from the bench, “I couldn’t possibly have heard you right.”

He had that unearned confidence puffing him up, when he’s sure he’s got everything all figured out, “Mother says you plan to murder you,” half-right was quite a welcome change from seldom.

The disbelief faded into a smile, the kind one has when remembering a fond childhood memory, “It wouldn’t be the worst idea,” musing aloud to yourself for a moment before turning your gaze back on him, “But I hadn’t planned on it, no.”

“But you have thought about it?” you suddenly felt it might by Dandy currently holding all the cards.

“Haven’t you?” raising your brows and nodding as he cleared his throat, “It’s no secret your mother wants me gone. It also isn’t a secret I rather wish the same of you,” taking a few steps towards him, when he stayed put, you closed the last of the gap, “But who is being civil?” gripping the collar of his shirt lightly in your hands, “And who is spreading nasty rumors?”

He smiled at you, that apologetic one you was seeing more and more often, “I’m so sorry, my love,” peppering kiss across your cheeks and over the bridge of your nose while you giggled, “I was just worried,” you tried not to let you smile fall, succeeding as you had done a thousand times before, “It would ruin the surprise if you were.”

“The surprise?” pulling away from him slightly to trace over his face as if it would give any clue as to what he meant, “What surprise?” it did not.

He looked especially pleased at the fact you not only hadn’t figured out what it was-as usual- but you had no idea he had anything planned at all. He wanted to gloat at how well he’d done, keeping secrets, tricking you, but being a braggart never got him anywhere when it came to you. With one arm still around your waist, he leads you out of the playroom and towards the stairs. He looked far too giddy about this all but there was no other option than to follow along beside. It’s what you had agreed to when you had accepted his ring.

“You remember what day it is, right?” he asked, there had only been one particular day of importance around this time.

“Of course I do,” even though you hadn’t, it wouldn’t be difficult to make up for.

At this point it seemed more about what he had planned for the day than anything. You could have told him the truth and he might have been even more excited but as it stood that seemed unnecessary. Better not to let him get too cocky. From the stairs they moved towards the dining room, which was even odder as it was near midnight but with every step closer his grin grew as did that glimmer in your eye. It precedes the act of washing blood from his skin by only a few hours. It’s all starting to slot into place but when they cross the threshold of the double doors, every piece falls harder than Jupiter, Florida’s thunderous rain. All that’s left in that wretched woman’s is fear, he’s wiped judgment off the map. You will more than have to pay him back but that’s a thought for later.

“I used to think you were being melodramatic, you know?” leading you carefully into the room until the stood just a few feet from the bound and gagged woman, “But she goes on and on. Taking silence as agreement. You should know better than that, mother,” he stepped behind you, one hand on your waist and the other behind his back, “All my darling wife does is take care of us both and you, always the clucking hen, are focused on propriety,” pressing a soft kiss to his wife’s temple, “Then you tried to convince me she’s a murderess as if somehow that would drive me away instead of right towards her,” it’s very much like scolding a child, something you weren’t sure the man knew, “There really is no kind way for a son to tell his mother he doesn’t need her anymore is there?”

He wouldn’t have been even if there were. He enjoys how his jovial tone makes her eyes widen and she struggles against her bonds, shrieking against the fabric. It’s all futile. Your insides melt, there aren’t words or time to express the depth of your gratitude. The way he presses against you, half-hard erection digging into you back, makes it clear there is more on the way. The hidden hand returns with a large and quite dramatic butcher knife. Which was his intent after all because the muffled screams almost amount to a yell. It’s impressive what volumes fear can make even the quietest of women reach.

“I thought you’d like to see the whole show,” his voice barely a whisper, it floods you with warmth, “You do love to watch me work.”

“You spoil me, sugar,” you giggled, leaning back against his chest, “And me here with nothing for you.”

He presses a hard kiss to your temple, “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” taking a step away and in front of you, making you pout in a way you had obviously learned from him, “Where should we start, beautiful?”

**Author's Note:**

> ao3; as always feedback is appreciated. and i am always taking ideas or requests.


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